


A Little Flicker of Flame.

by MamaCake



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Driftratchrod intended undertones, Feels, Implied Sexual Content, Kind of feels I guess, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaCake/pseuds/MamaCake
Summary: Deadlock has a prisoner. There was just something about this one that he wanted to take it slow with, but the little bit of fire he brings to his life he can't seem to extinguish. Perhaps maybe this time he could save a life rather than take it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is really not typically my style at all, as evident by the fact that all of my fics are tagged "cute" and "fluff" etc. I just wanted to write some Deadlock/Hot Rod and I wanted some Driftratchrod implied references too, so this is what I came up with. 
> 
> Excuse the absolute disgrace of canon timeline, I tried to place this before Deadlock was a Decepticon for too long and then I realised I had no idea in canon where Ratchet and Hot Rod were at the time so yep, just forget all of that and try to enjoy it 😂 also I wrote this in like a day because I couldn't sleep so forgive me for any stupid errors or typos or anything that doesn't make sense.

Deadlock hated nights like this, when it was so cold on board Turmoil's ship that he felt like his energon might freeze in his lines and when the dark was intrusive, terrifying thoughts lurking in the shadows. He'd huddle himself in tighter on his side and try his hardest not to let the voices slip in.

_Leaker. Murderer. Scum._

He tried not to think about the metaphorical energon on his hands that he was sure he could feel them slickened with as he clenched his fists together. He'd try not to let the screams of pained mechs reverberate in his processor, their last dying sounds trapped inside of him forever.

All he wanted was something, someone, pressed against him to keep him warm. A little bit of fire in his dark and cold life.

* * *

Just as he was examining the muzzle of his blaster for any energon splashed over the end of it, he heard a delighted whoop from one of his crew members. He flicked his optics up just as Dive pulled back a fist and punched the struggling captive he and his two other friends were tormenting right across the jaw.

They'd found a small settlement, right out in the wastes of a dull dusty planet and chased out the few Cybertronians they'd found hiding. Most of them had taken a blast to the chest, right into their sparks and Deadlock had been glad to get rid of them. If you weren't even going to fight for either side, what good were you? But this one, he had some spirit, apparent by the fact he'd spit the energon seeping between his lips right back at his attacker, a sly grin on his face.

“You trying to touch me up or what? Try harder if you wanna _hurt_ me.”

Just as the Decepticon went to swing again, Deadlock barked a stop command. He never did have much time for beating on mechs just for the sake of it and he was surely better to just finish it before Dive got stupid and sloppy. The last thing he wanted to do was give chase and get dust into every part of his transformation seams.

He stepped between the few of his crew, giving them a scathing look before he faced the mech.

Oh. Even with his mouth dripping of energon and his optics wild and wide Deadlock thought he was beautiful. His flame coloured frame was lithe yet strong and he was sure that in the right circumstances, he could give Deadlock a fair fist fight.

But this wasn't a fair fight.

Deadlock levelled the blaster at him and blue optics met his red ones unflinchingly, he didn't even struggle against the two pairs of hands digging into his arms. He took another step closer and still there was no fear, only a small grin.

“You going to shoot me with it or frag me with it, Con?”

Deadlock bared his denta in a smirk. He liked the fesity ones, they were more fun to play with.

“Lock him up.”

“But Turmoil-”

“You heard me.” Deadlocked pushed the barrel of the gun into Dive's chest, “he can tell us if there's any more scum on this filthy planet.”

“Frag off!" His prisoner spat.

Oh yeah, he liked the feisty ones.

* * *

 

“You did **_what?!_ **”

Deadlock shrugged as he dismantled his blaster at the small workbench in the armoury. He wasn't afraid of any backlash from Turmoil. Good luck finding a better second in command amongst the rest of these useless bags of bolts.

“I like having a play thing.”

“Deadlock, you're treading a very fine line here.” Turmoil snarled, “you might be a _favourite_ but I'm not above taking you down a peg or two.”

“I'd like to see you try.”

Knowing there wasn't going to be any other kind of conversation, Turmoil stomped away, chuntering under his vents. Deadlock was a liability and he was going to end up dead if he wasn't careful.

Deadlock laughed harshly. It was nice to be untouchable.

When he was done with assembling his blasters, curiosity got the better of him. He wandered down to the brig that was usually reserved for when someone got too drunk and needed to sleep it off. It was merely more than a turbofox cage, only just tall enough for Deadlock himself to stand in and not wide enough to lay down in by any means. They rarely ever took captives, and if they did, they didn't last long.

Their prisoner was lounging back against the bars, his legs stretched out before him and Deadlock noticed the nasty gash down one of them, still oozing pink. The optics were offline but he was sure he wasn't dead.

Having taken his half finished energon along with him, Deadlock held the cube in his fingertips at the seated mech's optic level, only inches from the bars. He onlined his gaze lazily, like he couldn't care less.

“Need to refuel by the looks of you. Runt.”

Deadlock slipped an arm through the bars and wiggled the cube impatiently. The mech folded his arms in reply.

“Fine. Lick it off the floor.”

With a clatter it landed, tipping its contents everywhere but still the mech didn't relent. He just watched Deadlock with intense blue optics, a look that followed the white mech into his dreams.

* * *

 

When he awoke from recharge, there was a pull in the direction of the brig that he found he couldn't resist, like he was magnetised to the mech that had slipped into his dreams. It had made the coldness just a little more bearable at least even if the company hadn't been physical.

If anyone asked what he was doing hanging around the brig again, he was going to tell them to mind their own fragging business, and if Turmoil asked he was going to say he was going to see what made him tick, quite literally. Turmoil always pulled a disgusted face when Deadlock mentioned anything that could be really messy, his own preferred torture methods were horrifying but easy to clean up.

As he stepped into the room and caught sight of the pretty frame hunched in the cage, Deadlock decided he definitely wanted to see what made him tick.

There was no one else in the brig, although not far away was the armoury, and he hoped there would be no interruptions.

He kicked at the bars and the clang woke the mech with a start, his face creasing as the pain from his injury flared up in his conscious state. When he saw which Decepticon it was staring back at him, he sighed dramatically.

“Oh good, the one that doesn't know whether to kill me or-”

“Shut up.”

“Or what?” He stretched his lean arms above his helm, “what are you going to do?”

Without thinking, Deadlock palmed the lock and stepped into the cage, leaving barely any room for either of them. The door shut behind him with a click.

Deadlock stared down at him. The mech stared back.

“What's your name?”

He was rewarded with a quirk of an optic ridge, but he replied.

“Hot Rod.”

Deadlock hissed a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? And yours is better right? _Deadlock_.”

There was a shudder down his back strut as Hot Rod let his name slip from his lips like a teasing touch. He didn't let it show how it affected him.

“Be careful, _runt_.”

“Or what?”

There was an arrogant smirk across his face as he looked between Deadlock's face and the array panel that was only inches away from him. The tension was too much and he backhanded Hot Rod across the face, snarling.

“I should have killed you.”

Hot Rod pulled himself up to sit again, laughing as he held the afflicted cheek. Deadlock clenched his fists in anger. How dare this mech laugh at him!

“Then go ahead. You've got the chance right?”

There was a long moment of stillness and silence, neither of them willing to make the first move, but under the intense gaze he was being given, Deadlock felt himself shiver again.

He wasn't sure why he'd become infatuated with Hot Rod, he was arrogant and irritating and reckless, and anyone that didn't show any kind of alignment Deadlock felt was a coward, but there was something captivating about his captive. He liked that he didn't seem scared of him, even as threatening as he was, able to aim and kill without so much as a flicker of his optics.

He couldn't stay any longer, not with Hot Rod so close to him. It was making his processor wander, about the mech on his knees in front of his array panel, begging for something other than mercy.

Hot Rod didn't flinch as Deadlock moved, palming the lock and backing himself out, without breaking eye contact. He pointed aggressively.

“I want to take my time with you.”

And as he stalked away, he felt yet another chill as he heard Hot Rod's retort.

“I bet you do.”

* * *

It wasn't the same. The thrill of shooting through sparks and wiping energon off his hands and the way optics flickered out in front of him had dwindled to nothing. This was a job, that was all, and even though he was good at it and this is what had saved him from the gutters, he couldn't find the passion for it anymore. It seemed pointless, it wasn't winning the war.

He tried not to think about the other reason he'd been saved from the gutters. The gentle red hands and the bright blue optics. No. That brought up feelings that he needed to seal back away in a dark corner of his processor, in the same place he'd put the confusing feelings he had for Hot Rod.

He needed to find passion somewhere else. Not in someone's arms like he wanted. Something where he couldn't hurt anyone.

When he walked down to the brig, he overheard a rough voice, his loud and brash crew member Dive. He slipped into the shadows, merely dim optics in the corner of the room and listened carefully.

“Boss says he's done with ya. So, any last words, little speedster?”

“As bad guys go, you are _the worst._ Seriously, I thought you were supposed to be scary and cool. All I see is a rusty, stupid slagger.”

Just as the Decepticon pulled up his blaster with a nasty grimace, Deadlock stepped in, hand on Dive's chest and sliding himself very slightly in between the feud. His yellow optics narrowed.

“Stand down, Dive.”

“Nah, see you don't get to pull rank this time Deadlock, this comes from the _boss_.”

“Fine.” Deadlock raised his hands in defense, “but I'm sure he still wouldn't take kindly to you ignoring his SIC either.”

Dive was torn. His direct order had been from Turmoil, but this was Deadlock, who was a little more than unhinged. For a moment he wondered then grinned, pleased with himself when he thought of his plan. He lowered the blaster and shrugged.

“Okay. Guess it's your job now.”

Deadlock laughed without humour, his optics still hard.

“Nope.”

“Oh, so you're gonna ignore _another_ order? Let's see how that goes down. You know you're getting on the boss’ very last nerve right?”

Dive turned to stroll away, still smirking, and Deadlock met Hot Rod's optics for the first time since he'd entered the room.

The mech was in a bad way after over half a deca-cycle of hardly being able to recharge due to the cramped conditions. Plus the energon rations were meagre enough without sharing but Deadlock had spared what he could. Still, it obviously wasn't enough, especially for someone injured. The gash on his leg was healing badly, and whenever Hot Rod eased his position to stop himself seizing, the wound reopened a little, trickling pink droplets over his paint.

But there was still life in his dim blue optics, and Deadlock was glad to see that hint of defiance he carried too.

His spark twisted in his chest. He couldn't stand by any longer.

He shot Dive down, the mech didn't even see it coming. Deadlock sighed and went over to haul his frame up, over his shoulder. If he could ditch this lifeless lump into the cell then maybe it would fool anyone just passing, even if Dive was an olive green in contrast to Hot Rod's stunning fiery hues.

Deadlock opened the cage and held out a hand to the occupant who shook his helm, expression pulled into a glower.

“Why should I?”

“You want to rot here?”

Hot Rod looked between the outstretched hand and the optics boring into him. His gaze flickered to the lifeless frame on Deadlock's shoulder and he tried to move his leg, but there was no way he was making a break for freedom in the state he was in. His choices weren't exactly great and it made him twitchy.

“You'll shoot me. In the back.”

“No I won't.”

“Why should I trust you?!” The fires of anger had taken hold now, “you took me prisoner, you've near enough starved me and I can't walk, you might as well just shoot me and end it!”

The prisoner heaved his chest with the exertion of his outburst, his brow furrowed deeply as he tried to throw all of his fury in Deadlock's direction with expression alone. The white mech tried not to let it show it was bothering him but there was a definite look of hate behind those blue optics.

Deadlock dumped Dive unceremoniously to the floor, Hot Rod having to pull his feet away quickly, groaning as it hurt. Without another word, Deadlock lifted Hot Rod up into his arms bridal style and sighed deeply. The frame pressed against him was strangely reassuring.

“Are you always so stubborn?”

“Part of my charm.”

Hot Rod's optics were still hard but there was a flicker of a grin as he said it. Deadlock returned it tentatively and then turned his helm as he heard noise.

“We need to get a shuttle and get out of here.”

“We?”

But Deadlock ignored the question. He knew his way around this ship and he was hoping he could slip away without anyone noticing. Maybe if it had just been him it would have been easy, but no, he was definitely taking Hot Rod. He'd rather die than leave him behind.

He crept as stealthily as he could down towards the escape pods and tried not to look down at where Hot Rod had closed his optics and rested his face against his shoulder. His spark did that funny clench in his chest again.

Maybe if he hadn't been distracted by the beautiful mech in his arms he would have gotten away perfectly.

He ran straight into Lockdown as he rounded a corner.

Their optics met, a small look of bemusement on Lockdown's face as he realised what this meant.

Lockdown drew his blaster but Deadlock was quicker, aiming for his leg. The Decepticon fell to the floor in a cry of pain and Deadlock flew past him, hoping they'd be gone before the alarms-

It was too late.

He pressed on, even as he felt the blaster fire skim the back of his shoulder from where Lockdown was firing, wounded on the floor. As long as Hot Rod made it, it didn't matter, that's all he needed. This might be his only chance to redeem himself a little, do one last right thing.

He palmed the escape pod open and dived in, still holding Hot Rod and tried to compose himself.

“Deadlock?” Hot Rod sounded confused, “what are you doing?”

“Shut up.” Deadlock glanced at the door, his voice hushed, “we need to go. But I need to give us a chance.”

And before Hot Rod could even register anything other than being put down into a comfy chair, Deadlock was heading towards the exit of the pod, his feet barely making a sound. He stopped and lowered his helm.

“If I'm not back in two kilks then go. Can you pilot?”

“That's not a lot of time.”

“Then I hope you can pilot.”

Deadlock disappeared through the door, closing it behind him. He hoped that his companion would be safe but it was the best he could do.

Hot Rod was preoccupied with the pain in his leg as he shifted in the chair when the sudden realisation that he had no weapons on him if anyone did come looking. He glared at the barrels perched on the top of his arm and wished they hadn't been disarmed, it was almost like a taunt to him. The best he could do if needed was fight with every flicker of his spark. At least he'd go down swinging.

He wasn't sure what Deadlock was doing to buy them time but he hoped he was doing it quickly. Even though he was a Decepticon and he'd taken Hot Rod prisoner, he hadn't tortured and killed him, and now he was risking his life trying to get them away, so he could give him those two kliks at least.

When he thought more seriously about it, he decided Deadlock was either really brave or really, _really_ stupid.

He sat as steady as he could at the navigation controls and he hoped that as the two kliks went rushing by he could hold on just a little longer.

The shuttle door was opened and Hot Rod instinctively ducked as he heard blaster fire pinging around inside.

“ **_Go! Go!_ **”

As soon as he heard Deadlock's voice over the calamity, he started the pod's engines, hoping that the exit from the main ship would stay open long enough for them to dodge through it.

Blaster fire pinged off the underneath of the vessel, and when Hot Rod saw Deadlock collapse next to him in the co-pilot chair, his optics went wide.

There was a gaping wound in his shoulder, one of his hands attempting to stem the energon that was seeping through his fingers.

“Concentrate on getting us away.” Deadlock snapped.

“You need help.”

“Frag, really? Hadn't noticed.”

Hot Rod tried to fight down the irritation as he made sure he kept his concentration on getting away. They'd finally gotten out of Turmoil's ship but it was still looming dangerously behind them. There was still time for death to come knocking.

Deadlock was hunched over, his sharp helm bent low as he tried to ignore the pain. He'd barely ever gotten so much as a scrape but tackling the Decepticon who was trying to rip the door off to get to Hot Rod had made him reckless. A point blank shot to the shoulder was bound to hurt, but at least that was better than point blank to the helm.

“Are we likely to get shot down?”

“No. I jammed the systems. They won't be able to follow us for a while.”

“Ah so I'll die at your hands. Excellent. Let me enjoy the view a little first right?”

And even though maybe he should have meant the abyss of space outside, his optics slid over to his companion. There was a small huff from him in reply.

“What?”

“M'not… gonna kill you.”

“Why? And why should I believe you?”

“Optics!” Deadlock turned his helm to snarl then pointed out of the windshield, “if you want to die that's fine, but don't take me with you, not after all that scrap back there.”

The long silence stretched between them. Hot Rod knew when he'd been told and even though he didn't like it, he knew when he should actually listen.

Deadlock threw himself back against the chair with a sigh. He'd been thinking and he needed to voice his concerns before he drove himself into a rage.

“We need a medic.”

“Yep. Not expecting you to be one, you're more _shoot_ than _save._ ”

“You either. Looks like you could barely lift someone.”

“Alright not all of us are built to be killing machines.”

Hot Rod scoffed, his spoiler twitching at the insult.

“I wasn't… I wasn't like this originally.”

“For someone not built to be a killing machine you do a good job. Let me guess, you joined the Decepticons because you had a flair for murder?”

“I joined because I had nothing else.”

Deadlock's voice was low and dangerous, the hand at his side clenching into a tight fist. Hot Rod also knew when to stop, sometimes.

“So, on the run, where do we go?”

Deadlock had at least thought this through and he brought his clenched hand up to his chest where his Decepticon badge lay. It was a part of him, some of his spark casing pried away to make this symbol he wore, but if he was going where he was, he'd need to be able to pass through safely. He grasped around it with his fingertips.

“I know a place. And a medic.”

* * *

 

It was late and Ratchet was weary, physically, emotionally, mentally, it was all the same to him these days. He tried to stifle yet another yawn as he righted the berth that some street kid had flipped over as he told the medic he didn't need fixing. Ratchet had lifted an optic ridge and pointed at the energon puddle pooling around the mech's feet in response, and after that he'd sat down and shut up.

Sometimes he wondered why exactly he was doing this.

And then he thought back to the one he knew he shouldn't.

That was why. He'd wanted to save him and he didn't know if he had.

He yawned again. It was no good, he was going to have to throw yet another day in the done pile and go home, his reports could wait, as soon as his aft hit something comfy he'd succumb to recharge.

There was a loud bang against his door and a hasty knock.

“Figures.” Ratchet muttered before calling out, “yeah yeah coming!”

When he flung the door open he was nearly barreled over by two mechs and a generous heaping of surprise alongside it. Warily, he keyed the door shut behind them and folded his arms across his chest, trying to settle his spinning spark.

“ _Drift_?”

“Drift?” The other mech limped over to a berth to steady himself, “so he gets even more mysterious.”

“Ratchet I… I'm sorry to just turn up here but we had no other choice.”

Deadlock couldn't meet Ratchet's optics, he merely pointed over at where Hot Rod was standing, unable to bare weight on his leg and shrugged painfully. Oh yeah. The hole in his shoulder, he'd almost forgotten.

“He needs help.”

Hot Rod made a noise of derision and Ratchet went towards the white mech, unfolding his arms and tilting his helm. It was unreal that he'd just been thinking of him and now here he was.

And he was definitely different.

Ratchet snatched himself out of those thoughts that he was sure would get him into trouble and placed a firm hand onto Deadlock's uninjured shoulder, pushing him back towards the berth and making him lie down.

If only he was pushing him onto a berth for a different reason.

 _Oh Primus_ , he huffed internally. Then he gestured across the room to where Hot Rod was leaping up as best as he could to sit on the other berth.

“ _He's_ not about to die in my clinic. _Again._ ”

Deadlock didn't make a noise as Ratchet worked on him, offlining his gaze so he wouldn't have to withstand the looks he was sure he was being given. And the blue optics he knew he'd be lost in. He wished he'd known somewhere else to go, but this was all he had, and he was lucky Ratchet was still even here, still even willing to treat him.

“So, do I get a story or is this one of those visits where I'm better off not knowing?”

Hot Rod made the noise again along with a hunch of his shoulders. Ratchet didn't like stories that started like that, it usually meant he shouldn't have asked.

“I was his prisoner.”

“Prisoner?”

“Well I suppose the only thing he really did was throw energon at me and give me a backhand oh, uh, I guess _shoot_ the guy about to shoot me.”

Deadlock turned his helm and onlined his gaze in his best expression of _shut up_ he could muster at the loudmouth.

“I see.”

Ratchet didn't ask anything else, concentrating on his task at hand and then silently moving over to Hot Rod.

Deadlock pulled himself up to sit when he was fixed and he couldn't feel the medic's gentle touches any more. What was he doing here? He could put Ratchet and Hot Rod both in danger by just being in the clinic, if anyone had seen them coming here, Turmoil would send a whole squad to kill them all without hesitation. He needed to slip away as soon as he could, hopefully Hot Rod would find his place somewhere and he knew he could trust Ratchet to help him with that.

He wasn't sure what he would do himself. Exiled from the Decepticons, he would more than likely be shot on sight and it wasn't like with his past he could just slip in with the Autobots. There was far too much energon on his hands and far too many lives snuffed out on his account and most importantly he was still incredibly angry. This stupid place had barely changed, he'd had to pass some of the very gutters he'd huddled in to get to Ratchet's clinic, catching glances of mechs still getting high to forget. He couldn't change the fate of this world, no matter how hard he'd tried, and now if he stayed he'd be putting two of those who he actually cared about in grave danger.

He would have to run, he knew that, but where could he go?

“-better than some kind of neutral place I suppose.” Hot Rod shrugged, “Deadlock?”

He lifted his yellow gaze to meet the lopsided grin he was being given. Ratchet turned back briefly from his ministrations on Hot Rod's leg to give him a look too and his optics were serious and intense. It was if Ratchet was asking him to make a better choice.

“What?”

“C'mon, you’ve got skills right? Wanna come make a difference? In a better way?”

“No.” He shook his helm definitely, “I’ll find something else, away from here.”

“What?! You can't go back to those Cons!”

Ratchet straightened his back and his full attention was now caught by the conversation, flicking his gaze between his two patients. His brow was furrowed.

“Decepticons?”

“Yeah,” Hot Rod pointed, “Deadlock, Drift, whoever he is, is one.”

“Was one.”

But the damage was done. He saw the hurt in Ratchet's optics, the disappointment that he hadn't done more with his life and Deadlock couldn't stand it. He jumped down from the berth and started towards the door, he'd done enough, heard enough, but Ratchet stepped in his path. His hand was held out, almost as if he was going to touch Deadlock's chest but had thought better of it. His anger though, that he didn't hold back.

“So you're going to just walk out of here again? To what? I didn't think I'd have this stupid conversation with you twice!”

“Thanks for the save. Again.” Deadlock shrugged but didn't look up from staring at the door, “Look after him, he's trouble.”

He gestured at where Hot Rod was seated on the berth, folding his arms over his chest and pouting.

“I'm _right here._ ”

“Do you really want to do this?” Ratchet caught Deadlock's arm in a tight grasp, “you don't have to be alone.”

“Yeah. I do.”

And Deadlock pressed something into Ratchet's hand then swept out of the clinic door, the medic watching him retreat out onto the streets. Once again he'd managed to fail him when all he wanted to do was help him.

He opened his red hand and found the purple insignia of the Decepticons in there. Deadlock's chest wasn't emblazoned with it anymore and he'd given it Ratchet, but why? To prove he'd given it up? Or perhaps, maybe the rumours were true, and that little shiny piece of metal he was holding was made from Deadlock's spark casing.

It was too good to be true that maybe he'd given him an actual piece of his heart but be stowed it into his subspace all the same.

“He's too stubborn for his own good.” Hot Rod was still pouting, “shame, he was good. And cute.”

Ratchet sighed, rubbing under the front of his helm. He closed his door, watching the flash of white paint disappear around a corner. It had been a really long day, and he still had things he needed to do, like put Hot Rod in his place.

“He was right, you are trouble. Stay there whilst I fetch you some med grade.”

With his helm tucked into the supply storage cupboard he let his expression drop and the sadness wrap itself around his spark. Maybe one day, Drift would walk back into his life and stay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You can right all the wrongs just to feel you belong,  
>  But simply calling out sins don't bring you closer to God._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so have some really badly written follow up chapter that is nowhere near long enough 🙈 I'm still unsure where to run with this, but if you want more can you please let me know so I can work with it? 
> 
> Sorry I haven't been around as much, I've had some trouble with my writing muse buy hopefully it's back and I can catch up on here writing and reading 💙
> 
> Oh! And I had to change the rating, please be aware that this now involves some sexual interfacing.

"Ratchet!"

Hot Rod was giggling, trying to push the other mech away but without much conviction. Unluckily for him, Ratchet was strong and he merely scooped Hot Rod up into his arms and placed the kiss he'd been trying to administer onto his face.

"Doctor's orders, you know better than to refuse."

Ratchet placed him down carefully, a wild look of love in his optics then leaned back against the desk. He still found it strange that in his new medbay, nothing was falling apart and if he needed supplies, he only needed to ask and he'd get them. It was a far cry from the Dead End clinic.

Hot Rod crossed his arms with a playful sulky expression.

"And _you_ know I hate following orders."

"But you don't hate doctors right?"

Ratchet smiled and turned around to look in his desk, he had some reports he needed to finish and…

Hands were sneaking around onto his hips and Ratchet huffed a little laugh.

"H _ot Rod_."

" _Ratchet."_  He was grinning, the bastard, "c'mon, just a little more."

* * *

 

Drift woke with a start, but he was already being pulled into a calm embrace. His plates were ruffled and he vented noisily but there were soothing noises and gentle hands to help calm him.

"It's okay, I've got you."

Rolling over into Wing's embrace, Drift wanted to offline his gaze once again to stop the tears flowing, but he knew that would flash images across his processor that he didn't want so instead he buried his face into his chest plates. When he was a little calmer, Wing spoke to him softly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Drift hesitated. This wasn't like the other dreams he'd spoken to Wing about. These weren't filled with fear and self loathing and death, they were filled with longing and sadness. Hot Rod, Ratchet, both lost to him, and there was nothing he could do.

"No."

Wing kissed his helm, "and if you decide to change your mind, I am here."

There was nothing that Drift could ever do to repay Wing for everything that he'd done, he would be eternally grateful to him so he felt incredibly guilty that he was here with him, thinking of others.

He let out a little huff. He couldn't get Hot Rod's cheeky grin out of his mind and any time he thought of Ratchet's hands on him…

"Are you cold? Here."

Wing fussed, pulling the blanket up over Drift's shoulders. It made the guilt weigh even heavier.

"M'fine." He muttered, "go back to sleep."

"And leave you angsting on your own? Don't be silly."

Drift didn't need to look up to know Wing was wearing that ridiculous and cute smile, the one that had irritated at first but the irritation had suddenly given way to something more.

"I'm not-!"

"Yes you are." Wing stroked his helm slowly, "you're my little ball of pent up emotions, huh? You forget how much I see."

"You should run the other way."

"Mm? Why?"

Drift looked up, shifting out of Wing's grasp. His optics were shining brightly and his brow was furrowed.

"Because of who I am, because of what I've done."

"Oof." Wing laughed, "you're proving my point Drift. When are you ever going to _let this go_?"

"When I'm dead."

"Oh really?"

Wing pushed him back onto the berth, his optics narrowing playfully and now he was grinning, pinning Drift down. The other mech blinked and tried to push him off, but it was no use, Wing could always get him where he wanted him.

"Over my lifeless frame." He nuzzled into him, "I'm not letting you go that easily, anyone wants you, they have to go through me."

"Wing…"

Drift whined, feeling a hot burst of lust erupt inside of him. He was about to sulk about it being unfair when he felt Wing's spike nudge against him. With a gasp, he opened his panel and let his valve engulf Wing's spike, digging his hands into his back and whining with passion.

He still thought about Hot Rod and Ratchet, but maybe not as much when Wing was on top of him.

* * *

 

Drift and Wing had been summoned to talk to Dai Atlas and the former mech knew exactly what it was about. Still, he threw his shoulders back as he walked into the room where the leader of Crystal City was leant over his desk, studying some datapads. Wing brushed against his side to let him know he was there then spoke.

"Dai Atlas."

The big mech didn't move or acknowledge them for a moment, until he straightened himself with a sigh.

"Wing, you can leave."

"But-"

As Dai Atlas turned, Wing knew he wasn't going to be listened to. With a small sigh, he nodded and left, patting Drift's shoulder as he left. The other mech didn't move, he stayed standing where he was, optics trained on Dai Atlas.

When they were alone, he spoke lowly.

"Drift."

"They started it."

Dai Atlas huffed, "you didn't even let me start. Drift, I understand your frustrations at the world and I thought that by offering you refuge here, some of that might have dissipated, but alas, here we are, once again with me reprimanding you over a fight that you once again started."

"It's supposed to be a haven right?" Drift shot back, his optics narrowed, "so why are there mechs still picking on mechs?"

"You can't expect everyone to cooperate all of the time."

"No. Apparently not, but I feel I've been sold short. A neutral place, away from the war, so why…" Drift lowered his helm, "why don't I feel better?"

"Perhaps because your spark is not here, it is home, on Cybertron."

Carefully, Drift pulled his gaze up to where Dai Atlas was staring him down. Concern flickered across his features.

"Are you… exiling me?"

"Of course not. Fighting is not an offense punished by exile, and ultimately it is your choice as to what you do with your life, but I feel that you're unfulfilled here. Aimless, reckless, _angry_."

"Of course I'm angry! There's a war going on out there and I'm here."

"So why do you stay?"

The answer wasn't needed. They both knew why he chose to stay.

"Drift," Dai Atlas sighed, "we have tried to guide you, you cannot deny that, but an angry spirit is hard to tame."

"And you don't have the means right?" Drift scoffed, "fine, I'll leave."

"Drift."

But he was already storming out of the room, like he always seemed to, and Wing was waiting outside, like he always did. They walked in silence for a little while until Wing took Drift's arm and guided him towards one of the crystal gardens, hoping that some of their energy would be soothing.

"Not all of us are so easily swayed, right?"

Wing was watching a delicate droplet of crystals spin in the breeze from the tree it was growing from. He eyed Drift from the corner of his optic where his companion was silent and solemn.

"What was it this time? Stop fighting or get a job?"

"...neither. He thinks I should leave."

Wing nodded, as if he knew that it was coming. Drift snapped his helm around at him.

"You think I should too?"

"Drift," Wing smiled sweetly in the way that always disarmed him, "I think you should do what _you_ want to do."

"Well maybe I want to be angry. Maybe I want to rage and kick and scream about it."

Wing took both of his hands in his own, pulling them up so they were by his chest.

"Then do that. Just don't do that here."

Sadly, Drift nodded. He knew it was too good to be true, he knew it would end sooner or later. Just someone else he had to leave behind, but he was getting used to it now, that ache in his spark.

As he turned to pull away, Wing resisted. With a frown Drift looked up at him but all he saw was a sparkle of mischief in his optics.

"I didn't say you had to do it alone."

"You want to leave _with me?_ "

"Someone's got to keep you out of trouble, right?" Wing grinned. "I told you, I'm not letting you go that easily."

He wanted to laugh or smile or something, but Drift stayed still, rooted in the same expression. Wing's grin softened and he stroked his face gently.

"Only if you want me."

In answer, Drift threw himself at Wing, kissing him hard. Wing noticed the few around them watching but he ignored them, closing his optics and kissing Drift back. Before it got too heated, Wing pulled away with a smirk.

"Okay, so where to?"

Drift huffed a laugh, "home."

* * *

 

"Ratch?"

The medic turned in the dark, onlining his optics to see Hot Rod watching him. He hadn't been in recharge, he was just kidding himself about trying and apparently his berth mate had been doing the same.

"Do you… still think about him?"

Hot Rod didn't need to say his name. Ratchet sighed and pulled the younger mech into his side, kissing his helm.

"I've got you kiddo."

"But that's not what I asked. It's just… I kind of do."

His voice was quiet, like he was afraid of being told off but Ratchet only squeezed him tighter.

"I'll be honest with you, I've always thought about him, from the first day I met him. But that doesn't mean I don't care about y-"

"I think about him too." It came out in one word almost, "I just… there was something about him right? Deadlock, Drift, whoever he was."

Ratchet nodded, "yeah. There was. But now, I have you."

He pulled Hot Rod on top of him, his optics illuminating the lithe frame straddled over him and he grinned. Hot Rod ran his hands up his chest and purred.

"Sometimes I think you only love me for my frame, doc."

Ratchet pulled him down into a hard, sweet kiss whilst his hands grabbed at Hot Rod's aft. The speedster grumbled with the attention, grinding himself down against Ratchet's panel.

"Well," Ratchet pulled himself away, "it's not for your smart mouth, that just gets you into trouble."

"Mmhm and sometimes I only get into trouble so I can be _punished._ "

Ratchet grinned before diving back into their kiss, pulling a hand back to spank Hot Rod. That only encouraged the grinding and Ratchet moved his panel back, so Hot Rod could sit on him better. There was no hesitation as Hot Rod sank his valve onto Ratchet's spike with a groan of pleasure.

Ratchet loved this. But, part of him thought he'd love it more if there was someone else to kiss too.

 


End file.
